Four, Pr,av eNn CaspRNET
lr-/nder the benevolent sun of the Napa Valley, in the tiny vineyard of BloomField,
the black grapes known as Cabemet Sauvignon were gro\Ming plump and fulI of promise.
But something else was growing in the partnership of Harryr Bloom and Ernie
Field, and that something was sour grapes.
Harr5r was a big man, built like a 6o-gallon vat, and he had been dedicated to
the art of viticulture since he was tall enough to reach his first cluster of grapes. He
had walked these fields beside his father, Rollie Bloom, a man who had single-handedly
created The Bloom Winery and made the Bloom name glow with pride on every bottle.
Then one day, the sun disappeared from Harryr Bloom's skies. An enormous
tun, containing ten thousand liters of new wine, fell from a wagon and ended his
father's life. A year later, Harryr's heartbroken mother died. Harry was left alonewith his regrets and his grapes.
It was a lonely life for Harry Bloom. Loneliness put an edge on his temper, and
his temper put an end to his friendships. His lack of friends led to a decline in his
fortunes. And as he approached fifty, Harry Bloom faced bachelorhood, boredom, and
bankruptcy.
Then Ernie Field arrived.
Harry would always remember that bright red MG convertible turning into his
driveway, and the two passengers who climbed out. Both were exactly the same size,
but one was a lovely woman \ rith wild, curly, brunette hair, the other a dapper man of
forly-odd with a bald head that gleamed in the afternoon sun.
"Field's the name," he said. 'i{nd wine is the game."
"If you're here to sell me sometJring," Harry Bloom grunted. "You've come to
the wrong doorstep."
"Not here to sell," the little man beamed. "I'm here to buy! And I dont mean a
few bottles. I'm talking about the whole vineyard!"
It hadnt been the first time Harryr had been solicited by a would-be purchaser.
everyone knew that
In the Valley, "heard it on the grapevine" was a literal truth-and
Haryr was struggling. He had resisted every offer, because no amount of money could
compensate him for the loss of the place he called home.
But Ernie Field had a different kind of proposition.
"I dont want to buy you out," he said, slipping his arm around the waist of the
woman he introduced as both his bookkeeper and his wife. "I want you as a partner.
I dont know the first thing about wine, except how to drink it! Can we tdk?"
They talked. And three bottles later, Ernie Field cut a six-figure check that
made Harry's eyes bulge. In truth, Harqr's eyes were already bulging at the sight of
Darleen Field at the other end of the kitchen table.
A week later, the Fields had moved into the main house, appropriating the best
wing for themselves. That was when Harry began to have qualms. Giant-size
qualms.
Despite claiming no knowledge of the winemaker's art, Ernie Field had many
"opinions."
t
Four. Pr,av aNt CaSPRNPI
"In mg opinion," Field said, "we should change our label to reflect the new ownership. 'Fietd and Bloom sounds pretty good to me."
"These wines are named after my father," Harr5r said stiffly. '"The Bloom narne
stays."
"A11right," his new partner smiled. "Bloom and Field, no, BloomField."
"In my opinion," he said the next day, "we're aging this stuff too long. People
who buy wine in our price range arent that smart..."
.we'll age the way we always have," Harry said, even more stiffly.
"In mg opinion," Field said as they examined the property, "we ought to clean
up around here. Like that old, damp cellar, for instance."
Harry glowered at this. The "old cellar" had been his father's own sanctum, a
place where he could escape the world and dream of the pagt and future. In that celiar, Rollie Bloom had kept one of each of the original vats of his best vintage years,
carefully marking each one to remind him of past glories. To this day, in his memory
Harr5r kept thosJold vats filled, decanting his finest product into each one. He knew
it was the kind of shrine that would please his father the most.
'The old cellar stays just the way it is," Harrlr grunted.
At first, Ernie Field seemed to accept Harry's authority good-naturedly. But little by little, things began to change at the BloomField Winery.
One day, Harry learned that Ernie, without consulting him, had sold several
dozen old oak casks to a neighboring vintner. When he demanded an explanation,
Ernie smiled.
'They were too old Harry," he said. "We dont want our wine to have the taste
of wood, do we?"
"You said you knew nothing about wine," Harry said sourly, "and you just
proved it. The oid casks dont add any flavor or take arry away. You only get the
woody taste when it's not sealed right."
"What's the difference?" Field grinned. "I bought new casks for the money and
made a profit! Isnt that what we're in business for-profit?"
Suddenly, Harry wasnt sure of the answer.
The next day, Harry learned that Field had raised the price of the last shipment
to their distributors. Their dismay was expressed in a letter, but Harry never got it.
He found it in the wastebasket of the business office.
"Why wasnt I told about his?" he raged.
Field patted his shoulder soothingly. "They paid our price," he said smugly.
"Isnt that all that matters? And I've got another idea about making more money.
Let's raise the proofl"
"Never!" Harr5r raged.
"It wont cost us much," Field said. "I've been reading about something called
chaptalization. You add sugar to the stuff before it ferments, and that raises the alcohol content."
"It also raises the possibility of going to jaiMt's illegal in California!"
"Okay, okay," Field said, lifting his small hands in front of him. "We can do the
same with grape concentrate. Come on, Harry, lighten up! Higher proof, higher
prices. Ask Darlesn-5fls'5 got it all on a spreadsheet!"
Four Pr,av ewn CespRNpt
He led Harry to the business office, where Darleen was pecking av/ay at a computer keyboard. As always, Harql was tongue-tied in front of the lovely brunette woman.
"Tbke a look," the bookkeeper said invitingly.
Harry bent over the keyboard, a position that afforded him a look not only at
the spreadsheet, but at other diz4nng aspects of Darleen Field.
It was only a month later that Harry realized he had lost all control over the
winery. His once toyal staff-a dozen people who usually accepted his orders as
sacred writ-now "double-checked" with Mr. Field before performing the smallest task.
If there was a problem, they went to Mr. Field. If there was a decision to make, it was
made by Mr. Field. Harry was becoming the worst thing in the world: unnecessary.
Like his father before him, Haryr Bloom liked to brood in solitude. Like his
father, he retreated into the old cellar. He sat in a rickety old chair and stared at the
vats that commemorated his father's best production years. He remembered how
proud Rollie Bloom had been when his '81 vintage took first pize in a statewide competition. Suddenly, he realized that there would be no more glory days. He knew that
Ernie Field had ended all hope of any reward but money.
"anybody home?"
When he heard the light trilling voice of Darleen Field, Harry almost tipped
over the unstable chair. He saw her in the doorway of the cellar, silhouetted against
the strong afternoon sunlight. Hers was a shape that made his pulse pound.
"Billy Foster said you might be here." She walked in smiling. "My, what a
wonderful smell. That's the best thing about a winery isnt it? The aroma!"
"Yes," Harry said nervously. "It almost becomes part of your soul."
"What a lovely way to put it! Oh-the reason I'm bothering you is that I need a
signature on this letter to Harris Distributors." She handed it to him and then went
to look at the old casks with the painted numbers. "What are these?" she said.
"Some special wines?"
'The casks are special," Harr5r said. 'They represent our best years, but I'm
sure there wont be any more."
"Why do you say that?"
"Never mind," Harr5r said gloomily. He signed the letter and handed it to her.
Their fingertips touched. And something changed in Darleens lovely face.
"I think I understand. You dont think Ernie will let you produce quality wine.
You think he's too greedy. Well, let me tell you something about Ernie Field. The reason he's so greedy is because it's in his nature. All pigs are greedy. And that's what
Ernie is. A pig."
Darleens limpid blue eyes suddenly blurred with tears, and she hurried out.
Harr5r was shocked at hearing an opinion that paralleled his own. But he was
even more intrigued that it came from Field's wife. And suddenly, Har4r Bloom had
something new to brood about... the emptiness of his love life.
At dinner that evening, Harry came to the conclusion that Darleen's love life
must be empty, too.
Ernie Field was in his customary form. Three glasses of wine before the meal.
A bottle during the meal. Four glasses following the meal. When they moved out to
the veranda, Ernie was barely able to remember his wife's name.
Foul
Pr,av eNp CISpRNET
"You're disgusting," Darleen said. "I think the real reason you went into this
business was to have a ready supply of the stuff."
Field laughed and then waxed poetic.
"'I sometimes wonder what the vintner buys one half so precious as the stuff
something."
he sells'... Homer Khayyam. The Ruby-Ruby-Ruby
"Better be careful," Harr5r said pleasantly-he was feeling light-hearted for the
first time in weeks-"or you might end up like Wino Joe."
"Who's Wino Joe?"
"He's an old tramp who hangs around the local vineyards. Always claims to be
looking for odd jobs. What he's really after is to boost some free wine."
"Dont need no free wine," Field said thickly. "I pay for what I get. I mean
euerything I get!" He snickered, and touched the diamond bracelet that glittered on
Darleens wrist.
Harry knew then that he hated Ernie Field.
TWo nights later, almost everyone in the Valley knew it, too.
It had been Darleens idea that they drive into town to a popular new restaurant
called Vines. It was a balmy night, lush with stars. Harry had been reluctant, muttering
about his inappropriate wardrobe, but Darleen returned from town with a new blazer,
shirt, and tie that fit him to perfection. He saw a changed man in his mirror-as big
and barrel-chested as ever, but definitely presentable. Despite Ernie Field's natty attire,
he looked small and insignificant besides his two dinner companions.
It may have been the contrast that made Field particularly nasty that night.
He ordered the most expensive wine on the restaurant's list, and gulped down almost
two bottles on his own. His voice grew louder and more raucotls with every glass. He
decided to give Harry a lecture about wine, expressing his contempt for everything Harry
believed, for Harqr's stupid, almost mystical attitude towards his profession. Every patron
at Mnes marveled at Harry Bloom's restraint as Ernie Field raved on, e4pressing his
famous "opinions." They didn't larow what was keeping Harry so calm. They didn't larow
that it was the tender hand of Darleen Field holding his under the table.
That night, Harry had difficulty falling asleep. His bed suddenly seemed emptier than it had ever been before. He went to the window that faced the long rows of
hea'vy-laden vines. They were a beautiful sight in the moonlight. But there was
something nearby that rivaled their beauty-the figure of a woman in a long white
gown, leaning against a column of the veranda.
Harry didn't think twice. He pulled on a robe and went downstairs. Darleen
wasnt surprised at his appearance; it was as if they had made an assignation. She
turned to look at him, and her eyes sent him a wordless message. He took her in his
AIInS.
It was some time later that they spoke, and their words werent happy ones.
"I dont suppose there's anything we can do," Darleen said. "Is there?"
"He's my partnea" Harryr said. "He owns half of the winery. If I can sell him
my half..."
"Forget that," Darleen said bitterly. "Ernie talks a lot, but he's scared to death
about running the place. He needs you, Harr5r, a lot more than you need him... a lot
more than I need him!"
Fow
Plev aNp CaspRNpr
"Then there's only one other answer. We've got to make him see reason. WeVe
got to make him sell his shares back to me. Yes," Harr5r said, with wonderful calm'
'That's what Ernie has to do."
It didnt take long before the working staff of BloomField noted the absence of
Ernie Field. Ernie was an early riser, always hurrying out to the fields and cellars to
harass the staJf as soon as the sun rose.
Billy Foster, the head gardenet commented first. He casually mentioned Field's
absence to Joey Munson, who was busy decanting wines into the new oak casks Field
had purchased. Joey mentioned it to his wife Louise, who worked in the kitchen.
Louise remarked on it to Harry Bloom, who said: "I was going to make a kind of formal announcement, Louise. But Mr. Field left the winery last night. Fbr good."
Louise almost dropped the dish she was wiping. "But-his wife is still here. I
saw her in the office this morning."
"She didnt want to give up her job," Harryr said easily. "Even after her husband decided to sell his shares back to me. Listen, how about a nice lamb shank for
dinner tonight?"
Before the lamb shank was in the oven, everyone at Bloom and Field knew the
story. By the time the meal was served, haff the neighbors knew it, too. Ernie Field
was gone! There were no expressions of regret.
The next morning, Ed Lowry, the bank president, called Harry and asked if the
rumor was true. Harry told him it was; he had a signed bill of sale. Harry assured
Ed that he neednt worr5r about the small loan that was still outstanding. He would
be payrng off his ex-partner in easy installments. There wouldnt be any default.
Ed thought Harry sounded very happy. For that matter, Harr5r's happiness was
evident to everyone who knew him. What was also evident was that Ernie Field's
newly-liberated wife was partly responsible for his mood.
Maybe the rumors were inevitable. Maybe there was no way to stop the speculation that settled over the Vatley like a fine mist. But people were talking, and questions were being asked. What made Ernie Field give up a business that gave him so
much satisfaction? Why did he vanish from the scene so quietly? Where did Harry
Bloom get the money to buy out his partner? And why did Field's wife remain
behind?
For the nexl twenty-four hours, there were only questions. Then there was a
surprising answer from an unexpected source.
His name had once been Martin Joseph Mullec but everyone called him Wino
Joe. The vintners didn't like having Wino Joe around, especially when he turned larcenous. Most of the time, he was tolerated. It had been their product, after all,
which had turned Martin Joseph Muller into a derelict.
Oddly enough, it was Wino Joe's sudden absence which aroused their curiosity. Wino Joe was always around somewhere in the vineyards, but now he was invisible. Then someone realized that his disappearance coincided with the vanishing of
Ernie Field.
Ed lnwry dropped the hint to Sheriff Jackson Beryr. Berry, a young man, had
become increasingly bored with the low crime rate of the Valley. Even the slight hint
Four. Pr"ev aNo CaSPRNPI
of foul play managed to start his adrenaline flowing, and he ordered his deputy to
bring Wino Joe in for questioning. Ed Lowry made a point of being there.
The first thing Sheriff Berry observed was that Wino Joe was scared.
It may have bien nothing more than anxiety about confronting the Sheriff's
badge. But Berryr was persistent. And to his surprise, the vagrant blurted out a
stunning confession.
"isaw the whole thing," he said. "I wish I hadnt seen it! I got so scared I
almost ran all the way into Oakville!"
"When?" Berry said. *Was it Tuesday night?"
"Yes," Wino Joe said miserably. "I pinched a bottle from BloomField's cellar' It's
never locked. I usually warrn myself up under the stairs. I was sleeping real comfortable, when all of a sudden I heard talking."
"What time was this?"
"I dont own a watch, but it was late. I mean, it was the middle of the night,
and these two men were talking, real loud! I peeked out from under the stairs to see
what was going on."
"Who were the men? Did you tecognize them?"
"yes." Wino Joe said. "One was Mr. Field, that little mean guy. The other was
Harr5r Bloom. He was the one with the shotgun."
'The tuha(?"
"He was holding this big old shotgun to Field's head! Mr. Field was on his
knees, and there was this piece of paper on the ground in front of him! Bloom was
prodding him with the gun, and saying this word over and over..."
"What word?"
"Sign!" said Wino Joe. 'That's all he said! Sign! And then he cocked that old
gun, and Field started to shake so much he could hardly hold the pen Harqr shoved
into his hand. Then Field bent down and... I guess he signed that old piece of paper."
'The bill of sale," Ed Lowry murmured.
'That wasnt the bad part. The bad part came after. When I saw what Harry
did \rith that gun."
"Do you mean he shot Ernie Field?" None of the winery employees questioned
had heard a noise the night of Field's disappearance.
"No." Wino Joe said. "He reared back with that old gun and clubbed the little
guy in the back of the head! I almost got sick. No, it was worse than that. I almost
got sober!"
The mention of sobriety troubled Sheriff Berry. How reliable was the testimony
of a drunk?
"Was he dead?" Ed Lowry asked. "Could you tell?"
"I dont know! I was afraid to look! But then I heard that horrible sound!"
"What sound?"
"Like a jigsaw or something! I didnt see what he was doing with it, but I could
imagine!"
"Good Lord,' Ed Lowery said.
'Then I heard an engine start, but I just couldnt look!" sobbed Wino Joe.
Sheriff Berr5r and Ed Lowry returned to the winery to discuss these revelations
with Harry Bloom.
Four. Pr"ev ervo CanpnnPr
'Are you guys crazy?" Bloom asked. "Dont you know the guy is,an alcoholic?
He has halft-rcinitions all the time! He's seen pink elephants, blue giraffes, and yellow
rhinos! He's been dried out in the hospital half a dozert times!"
"We know that,' Sheriff Berryr said, with a touch of embarrassment. "But if you
can tell us how to get in touch with Mr. Field-"
"How should I know where he went? When he and his wife broke up, all he
cared about was getting some money and clearing out! That's what he did," Harry
stammered.
Berqr twirled his cap. 'Then you wont mind if we just have a look in the cellat'?"
"You can look all you want," Harry said grumpily. "But you wont find a thing!"
When they entered the cellar, Sheriff Berr5zlooked around at the clutter of
objects until his eyes picked out the old shotgun leaning against the barrels. He
picked it up and examined the butt for telltale si$ns. There were none.
"Would you mind opening these?" he asked, pointing to the barrels.
He wasnt prepared for the explosion his words would produce.
"Minffi" H..ry Bloom roared. "These barrels are all sealed! If you think I'll
ruin hundreds of gallons of good wine, you're as crazy as Wino Joe!"
Berry looked miserable. "But it's the only way to disprove his story!" the
Sheriff pleaded. "Dont you want to have your name cleared? Dont you want to stop
all these rumors?"
"What Iwant is for you to get out of here! If gouwant these barrels opened,
Sheriff, you'll have to get yourself a court order!"
There was nothing more the young lawman could do. He left the cellar and
slowly walked back to his car with the banker following gloomily.
"It'll take at least a week to get a court order," Berryr said, "assuming we can get
one! By that time, Bloom would have plenty of opportunity to get rid of the body-if
there is one."
'This is wine country," Ed Lov,rry shrugged. "Nobody likes to see good wine ruined."
'And nobody likes to see someone get away with murder!"
Suddenly, the Sheriff stopped in his tracks.
"Wait a minute! Maybe there's another way to prove that Wino Joe was telling
the truth!"
He wheeled about, and trotted back so hastily that the older man had a hard
time keeping up with him. When Berr5r burst into the cellar, Harry Bloom was no
longer albne. Darleen Field was there, too, and the couple sprung apart $uilty from
an embrace.
"Excuse me," the Sheriff said. "But I just ttrought of something Wino Joe
said-about what he saw you do. I wont have to open every barrel. I know exactly
which one has the body of Ernie Field!"
Do you? Assemble the jigsaw pazzle and see if you can solve the mystery of the
missing body.
Foul Pr"ev ewo CenPnrPt
The Solutlon:
gniwsa uo1lo bnrloa srIJ a6'w" .bisa r6ns€Illhsrl? ",bT63rl soL oniW bnuoa JsrlT"'
.nisps q.rii bslssa brrs .sbiani lbod a'blsil Juq uorEnsrlT .>Iascs 1o qoJ srli ni slorI-s
".Jlil >hol sdJ asw bnroa enigne edT
"Sdasc rlcirlw won>I uol >lnirlJ uor4bnA' .gni>lcom asw slima a'mool€I gnsH
gnirrsqo srIJ Isscnoc'oJ rnvob sbiaqu >Iasc srIJ rnrd oJ bsrl uo1 sar-tscsd-esY'
".gb6m uorE
"!qu sbia trlgh srs adasc srIJ IIB JuB" .bserl airl berlcJs:ca grwol bfl
.bisa r6ne€Illilerl? ",Jofi edlsm ,sdr46M"
".IAgI" bs{rsm Isrrsd srlJ oJ rsvo bsdlsw sH
.bisa srl ".mrob sbiaqu ro qu ebia Jrlgi: errrsa srIJ abssr JsrIJ rserl s ai IOQI"
".>IooIs sd.BJbrrs JliI drol lsrlJ Jeg a'Je.I"
.blsi-{ sirfiO 1o gbod bs>Isoa-sfiiw srIJ bsvomsr rEerIJ;rsJsl aeJunim gJnsvff
.sc61 airl no elima s rlJiw bsib srl JsrIJ rsswa bluow YrwGI bO ,rsJ6"I